


Valentine's Day

by Semianonymity



Category: Toriko (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:26:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1439986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semianonymity/pseuds/Semianonymity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Livebearer takes Komatsu on a Valentine's Day date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Surprise Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> A VERY BELATED VALENTINE'S DAY FIC. Yes, I did start writing this in early February. Yes, it was supposed to be a short oneshot. The next chapter should be posted next week!
> 
> Featuring adorable/terrifying/creepy-cute romance, and a _very_ unlikely couple, who are nonetheless very much in love.

The knock at the door was enough to bring all the motion in the kitchen grinding to a halt, if only for a split second. After all, it was Valentine's day, and the Hotel Gourmet was full to bursting, full of couples, the occasional trio, a few families, all there to celebrate love. They'd designed a special tasting menu, and even though it was a cold February night outside, the windows were steamed up and the chefs were sweating in their whites. And Chef Komatsu in his pinks, in the middle of all of it, his smile even brighter than usual.

“Toriko-san?” someone muttered in the corner, looking a little panicked—they couldn't handle a meal for a King, already cooking at full capacity.

“I'll go see who it is,” Komatsu said, headed towards the door, distracted work beginning again in his wake—after all, they couldn't overcook the meat, let the souffle fall or leave the not-yet-disarmed miniature razor-lobsters to their own devices. The sous chef followed in Komatsu's wake, worried—not that he'd do much good, if anyone was there to attack Komatsu. Technically, nobody and nothing should be able to make it through the hotel's security system to the kitchen's back door. It was strange that someone would sneak in, during open hours, and then announce their presence with a knock—

The chef closest to the door pulled it open as Komatsu hurried over, pushing a few loose strands of hair nervously out of her face as she did, leaving a streak of flour behind. She stared out, and then up—and up—past the huge fist, raised (hopefully) to knock again, the huge chest straining against a well-fitted pink shirt, a glimpse of ink on the wrist where the cuffs had pulled, and—no head. The door was too short. She squeaked in horror.

Livebearer's grinning face appeared as he bent down, smiling wide—too wide—and Komatsu hurried forward, the woman who'd opened the door dodging to the side, and his smile went indescribably softer as Komatsu threw himself at Livebearer, bursting into happy tears, clinging and also trying not to spot Livebearer's shirt as he cried.

“Livebearer-san! It's you! I can't believe it—oh it's so good to see you!”

“Happy Valentine's day, Komatsu-chan,” Livebearer said, with a little puff of laughter, the rest of the kitchen dismissed as he scanned it quickly, anyone staring quickly getting back to task, which made his smile widen just that much more. Good. It wouldn't do to have anyone not working their hardest for his Komatsu-chan.

“Happy Valentine's day! What a wonderful surprise—oh, I'm sorry! Let me get you something to eat—!”

“Now, Komatsu-chan, I know you're working—”

Behind Komatsu, the sous chef exchanged a few quick glimpses around the room, and came to a decision, squaring his shoulders even as he wrung his hands together nervously, simultaneously determined and terrified.

“Ah—Komatsu-san, we have the kitchen under control. You should—in all the years you've worked here, even before you were head chef, you never took Valentine's day off, Komatsu-san! So...”

The man realized that Livebearer was staring at him over Komatsu's shoulder, Komatsu half-turned in his arms to look, and trailed off, swallowing obviously. But Livebearer didn't do anything to further terrify the man, because he was holding Komatsu—who was looking up at him reproachfully.

“I'd never take you anywhere you didn't want to go, Komatsu-chan!” Livebearer said, which was—half true, although he wasn't quite sure how. “But if you'd like, I'd like to take you out to dinner,” he said, and all his years and years of acting, controlling situations with careful application of a lack of control, all his years in power—he couldn't quite make his voice even out. “Be my valentine, Komatsu-chan?” he asked, holding out a bouquet of roses, fragrant and the same pale pink as Komatsu's chef's uniform—as his own shirt tonight. He'd decided it was time he had an outfit to match Komatsu-chan's. But now he was nervous. Had that been too forward? Too pushy? Komatsu hadn't agreed yet, he hadn't given him warning—he didn't want to push too far and break his dear Komatsu-chan before he was done with him. And, unexpectedly, there were no signs that he was getting tired of the small chef.

Komatsu looked at the kitchen carefully. “I don't want to leave you short-handed, Sawa-kun,” he began, but the sous chef was shaking his head immediately.

“You've more than done your part, Komatsu-san! ...I'll call if anything comes up?”

“If you're sure,” Komatsu said, still looking a little guilty but also clearly—thrilled. He looked up at Livebearer with a burgeoning happiness, surprised and honored and excited, that was completely at odds with the other man—even though Livebearer was looking back with an unnervingly similar expression, warped to fit his frankly terrifying face. “Livebearer-san, it's an honor! I'd love to be your valentine!”

“Thank you, Komatsu-chan,” Livebearer whispered, leaning in close to the smaller chefs ear, squeezing him once—gently, clearly perfectly controlled, Komatsu not at all worried, and Zebra was one thing but _Livebearer?_ Sawa would have been worried—he'd worked for Komatsu for years, considered him a friend—except that he knew Komatsu. And Livebearer still has his hand curled, almost shyly, around Komatsu's. It was big enough to swallow not just Komatsu's hand, but also his wrist.

It was still a huge relief when Livebearer departed, the kitchen quiet for a few minutes longer—even the clatter of dishes dampened. Everyone listening in, no doubt. There had been a lot of gossip this Valentine's day—even more than usual.

“Back to work!” Sawa called out, and the kitchen staff set to with a will, the murmur of voices starting to rise again.

 

“I should change,” Komatsu blurted, out in the hallway, the din of the kitchen fading behind them, leaving the more intimate silence and dim familiarity of the back hallways of the Hotel Gourmet. “Livebearer-san—you look wonderful,” Komatsu said, eyes wide, hesitating on the brink of mentioning that Livebearer was wearing a shade of pink a near-perfect match for the outfit he was already wearing. “If you're taking me out to dinner!”

“You look wonderful,” Livebearer said, smiling so his eyes crinkled, and now that Komatsu knew him, it was so _different_ when Livebearer smiled, when he meant it. “There's no need to change, Komatsu-chan! You're—”

“But you're not wearing your chef's outfit,” Komatsu said in rebuttal, cheery. “It'll just be a moment, Livebearer-san, I've got something to change into here—” And he did, thankfully, a brand new suit courtesy of Sunny, which he planned on wearing next week when the King came by for a belated Valentine's dinner. “I'd need to change anyway, even if it was just into another set of whites, I've been cooking all day!”

“If you insist, Komatsu-chan,” Livebearer said, and Komatsu squeezed his hand once before dropping it, dodging into one of the rooms left empty for the chefs to use—although, really, Komatsu was the only one to use them with any regularity. He freshened up quickly, hurrying because he didn't want to leave Livebearer waiting—it would be rude—and because he was _excited_ , giddy with the champagne bubbles of joyful surprise. He hadn't ever imagined—okay, maybe once he'd dreamed, once or twice, when Livebearer had surprised him with a package of rare ingredients in the mail, when he'd managed to meet up with him and—

Komatsu couldn't stop smiling as he quickly pulled on his new suit, gave himself a quick once-over in the mirror—he was still obviously himself, but Livebearer didn't seem to mind, and he was looking his best—and headed out again.

They still matched, because Sunny had found pants and a jacket (or, probably, had custom made, which made Komatsu wince to think of the price—and of course Sunny would have his exact dimensions memorized, with greater accuracy than mere measuring tapes could ever hope to achieve) in the same pale pink as his chef's clothes, and it was somehow comforting. The shirt was the color of fresh, rich cream, the tie blue, gold, and magenta, and he was a pastel counterpoint to Livebearer, who had on dark burgundy over his pink shirt—he'd shrugged back into his jacket, and it just made him look even more massive, even without his hat.

Komatsu reached for his hand again—and Livebearer met him halfway, the knife callouses on his palm rough, the rest of his skin a little strangely plastic feeling, but that was just Livebearer-san, and Komatsu always adjusted quickly. It had become one of the things he liked—one of the things that meant that _Livebearer_ was there next to him.

Livebearer was staring at him, so Komatsu got his smile back under control, and looked up expectantly.

“All ready!”

Livebearer was still staring, face somehow both open and inscrutable, before he visibly collected himself. “Livebearer-san?” Komatsu asked, polite, when Livebearer stayed silent and still, looking almost—but not quite—like he wanted to speak.

“My apologies, Komatsu-chan—you—”

“We match,” Komatsu said, with a smile, when it was clear that Livebearer wasn't going to continue. “And it's even pink, for Valentine's day!”

“—do you mind,” Livebearer asked suddenly, only it didn't come out quite like a question.

“—eh?! What do you mean, Livebearer-san?”

“That I'm wearing your color,” Livebearer said, glowering, face losing the easy expression it had had, the laugh lines in the corner of Livebearer's eyes going hard, Komatsu worried, confused—what had he said, to upset Livebearer?

“It's—pink, for Valentine's day?”

“To match _you_ , Komatsu-chan,” Livebearer said, wanting to sound exasperated, a little pleading.

“O-oh! It's an honor, Livebearer-san—”

“I'm the one who should be honored,” Livebearer ground out, fury starting to become more and more obvious. “If I cared about something that _stupid_ —”

Komatsu had to reach out, worried that the evening was ruined already, confused and lost and wanting to put things _right_. “...Livebearer-san?”

Livebearer looked down at Komatsu's small fingers, resting lightly against the back of his hand, and slowly, he relaxed, the air in the hallway suddenly easier to breath, like a great weight had been lifted. “I have to apologize again,” Livebearer said, with a sickly smile.

“No you don't,” Komatsu said, promptly, and Livebearer looked—startled, for a moment, not used to anyone disagreeing with him? But then he managed a smile that was real, even if it was a little shaky, even if it would terrify most people. Komatsu was sure—pretty sure—that he knew Livebearer's expressions, better than anyone else at least, and he smiled back.

“Komatsu-chan—I wanted to match you. But you know I'm just manipulating you,Komatsu-chan.”

“It didn't bother me, Livebearer-san! It doesn't. I'm so glad you're here—I'm honored to be your valentine. I'm glad we match,” Komatsu said, and he shifted his hand, until it was over Livebearer's, tugging until Livebearer let his arm unbend. Gently, Komatsu bent his head to kiss his knuckles, heart in his throat, bright and joyful.

Livebearer let out a breath, staring at him again.

“Just because you let me get away with it doesn't mean I should take advantage of you,” Livebearer said, with great distaste and—

Fear, Komatsu thought, worried. Not sure why _Livebearer_ —

“I trust you,” Komatsu said, openly. “Livebearer-san—I'm your valentine, tonight. I trust you! And—you're looking out for me, worrying about this, even though I think it doesn't matter! That—that means something, doesn't it, Livebearer-san?”

“So strong,” Livebearer whispered, brushing his fingers against Komatsu's cheek, just lightly—Komatsu shivered, looking up into his eyes, frozen. Still—always—amazed and honored that Livebearer saw him that way. Livebearer's skin was so warm against his own.

“...We don't want dinner to get cold,” Livebearer said finally, breaking the electric hush around them, and Komatsu smiled, shifted, breaking that small point of contact. But as he started down the hallway, he reached for Livebearer's hand again—even if it was hard for Livebearer to adjust his paces for Komatsu, even with the practice Komatsu had keeping up with Toriko, Zebra. Normally, he tried not to be too difficult, but it was Valentine's day, and the night outside was cold, even with the heavy coat Komatsu had grabbed—Livebearer was still only in his jacket, but seemed unaffected. And Livebearer was his valentine, and Komatsu wanted to hold his hand.

“Where are we going?” Komatsu asked, as they left the building—by the back door, dodging the waiting crowd still gathered around the front, Komatsu wincing and wavering, just a second, at the sight. Livebearer frowned at him. “...Ah! Sorry, Livebearer-san, I just—I feel bad, I'm gone so often with Toriko-san!”

“You should be more selfish, Komatsu-chan,” Livebearer suggested, squeezing his hand quickly, and Komatsu laughed, trotting just a bit to keep up.

“It's a beautiful night,” Komatsu said instead, changing the subject—he thought he was plenty selfish already—and pointing up at the stars. Livebearer hesitated a minute, looking up, pausing—like it had been a long time since he'd really looked at them.

“With good company,” Livebearer added, the words smooth, practiced, sounding half like a private joke, the way almost everything Livebearer said did—but at the same time, there was a hint of embarrassed, genuine feeling to it that made Komatsu smile, because he could _hear_ it, because he believed in Livebearer—because he felt the same way, even if Komatsu was a very different person, and expressed things differently. ...and he thought that Livebearer-san was still learning, or relearning, a lot of things. Komatsu wanted to help him with that, wanted to be there with him while he grew—

Figuratively, rather than literally, Komatsu thought, with a small private laugh. If Livebearer got any bigger, he wasn't going to fit into Komatsu's apartment at _all_ anymore, and Komatsu had already looked long and hard to find the highest ceilings in the city. It left his new apartment a little further away from the Hotel Gourmet, but it was worth it.

“It's supposed to start snowing!” Komatsu said, with the joy of someone who'd grown up in a place where it didn't happen often. “It's—romantic?” And he laughed, lightly, but really meaning it.

“I would have arranged it on purpose if I could have,” Livebearer said, sounding smugly satisfied, and he chuckled with Komatsu, ignoring the terrified glance from a pedestrian who'd looked up at the wrong time and realized just who was laughing. “Nothing but the most romantic Valentine's experience for you, Komatsu-chan!”

“But Livebearer-san, I'm spending it with you! It's going to be wonderful no matter _what,_ ” Komatsu said firmly, pressing a little closer to Livebearer's side.

“You're probably the only person to think that,” Livebearer said, unexpectedly—not grim, but serious, his voice a little tight with some emotion that Komatsu couldn't quite identify, mixed in with the anger almost always simmering somewhere in Livebearer—even leaning so he could look up, he couldn't get a good look at Livebearer's face, the way it was shadowed, the way Livebearer wasn't looking at him.

“You're my valentine,” Komatsu reminded him, gently. “You asked me—maybe there are other people who would also be your valentine—” Livebearer just laughed at that, dismissive and threatening. “—or maybe not! But Livebearer-san, you asked me, and I agreed, because it's —and because you're _you_ Livebearer-san, and I know you've put together a wonderful evening! But I love just spending time with you—”

“Komatsu-chan, you have to be more careful, or you'll end up in trouble,” Livebearer told him, still not looking down. But his hand was firm and steady, carefully gentle pressure, around Komatsu's.

“Not with you,” Komatsu said, sure, trusting him. “That's why I said yes, Livebearer-san.”

There was a pause, not quite easy or comfortable, but nothing changed in how Komatsu's shoulder brushed against Livebearer, in the warmth and comfort of walking next to him.“I wasn't expecting you to,” Livebearer said suddenly, abruptly. Hoping Komatsu-chan didn't realize that if he had refused him, Livebearer had been half-expecting to hurt him, maybe badly.

“—oh! But then did you plan—”

Livebearer squared his shoulders.

“I mean, I trust you of course Livebearer-san! But if you didn't expect it, then did you make reservations—”

“Of course I have reservations,” Livebearer said, sneering, and Komatsu had to laugh at himself, a little sheepish. “But... there's Toriko-chan, and I wasn't _expecting_ you—”

“I know,” Komatsu told him, gently. “Is it okay? That Toriko-san's my partner?”

“I know. It's _you_ , Komatsu-chan,” Livebearer said, with a note of fondness in his voice that made Komatsu's heart sing. And maybe nobody else could hear it in Livebearer's words, but Komatsu could, and he _knew_. And that was why he was Livebearer's valentine.

“There's nothing to worry about, then! We can just enjoy our evening—thank you again.”

“Thank _you_ , Komatsu-chan!” Livebearer finally turned his head, so that he could see his face—and it had smoothed out again, oddly peaceful. Komatsu smiled up at him, just drinking in his expression, the white vapor of his breath in the cold night air, the only sign that it was cold out at all, looking at him—he'd tucked one of the same pink roses he'd given Komatsu into his buttonhole, and Komatsu knew that his expression had gone even softer, sillier, besotted. Livebearer laughed again—not mean, even if Komatsu winced a little at the scream beside them, someone finally recognizing that the giant man was Chef Livebearer, even if he was wearing a red and pink suit and walking hand-in-hand with Chef Komatsu—

“They're cooking roses,” Livebearer said, a little smug again, tapping at a velvet-soft petal with an oversized finger. “I wanted something romantic, Komatsu-chan! For Valentine's day. But the pink made me think of you...!”

It was Komatsu's turn to laugh. “Thank you, Livebearer-san! That's—it's a little sappy, but—thank you,” Komatsu said, grinning and blushing, shaking his head. “Cooking roses? Where just one petal can flavor a hundred liters of liquid?”

“Nothing but the best for you,” Livebearer said, making Komatsu laugh again. “...You know I mean it, right, Komatsu-chan?”

“I don't know how you can say those things, Livebearer-san! It's just me, after all—”

“Exactly,” Livebearer said, voice echoing with _pride_ , and Komatsu ducked his head, pressing closer.

“I'll make rose and raspberry tarts,” Komatsu said. “With a custard base—elegant and floral and pink. And I'll think of you when I eat them.”

“—You're the one being sappy now,” Livebearer said.

“Is it too much? It's true!”

“It's hard to believe you're my valentine,” Livebearer said, and he did sound surprised, honestly so. “Komatsu-chan—I did my best to destroy you.”

“I know,” Komatsu said. “But you didn't. And—it's changed. _You've_ changed, Livebearer-san. You could still do it, you know—but I went with you anyway. Because I trust you.”

“It's stupid of you,” Livebearer said, sounding—lost, afraid, so Komatsu stopped in the middle of the sidewalk (deserted around them, a few people hurrying away on the other side of the street, Komatsu couldn't forget who he was with) and when Livebearer turned to look at him, standing still too, Komatsu jumped up to hug him, clinging with all the strength in his small arms, until Livebearer hugged him back—he'd put his arms around Komatsu immediately, for support, but Komatsu wasn't ready to let go until the grip changed to an embrace.

“You're my valentine for a reason, Livebearer-san!”

“Because I asked?” Livebearer said, grimly humorous, putting Komatsu down again. This time, he was the one to reach for Komatsu's hand, and they started walking again—not in step with each other, they couldn't be, really, not like when Komatsu walked arm-in-arm with Ume-chan—but in sync nonetheless.

“Because you—because you asked! Because you _thought_ to ask, Livebearer-san. And I love cooking with you—I love spending time with you! You're an amazing chef, and working with you—you remember how exciting it was? I want to collaborate on a formal dinner with you sometime—but it's not just professional, it's—how you light up when you smile like that, and—and I _mean_ it, Livebearer-san. You know I do!”

“You're too honest,” Livebearer agreed. “I'll smile more for _you_ , then, Komatsu-chan!”

“I like your smile because it's you,” Komatsu said, with a blinding smile of his own, and Livebearer's grip tightened against his fingers, just for a second, his thumb brushing softly across Komatsu's palm.

“Anyone who wouldn't want you as a valentine would be nothing but trash,” Livebearer said bluntly, and Komatsu bumped into him in protest, honestly embarrassed and mock-horrified.

“ _Livebearer_ -san!”

“I'll fight off the competition,” Livebearer suggested, and Komatsu had to giggle.

“Half of them already fought you! Coco-san took me out for tea and chocolate last weekend—and Toriko-san's taking me on a trip as soon as the heart-sturgeon start running—Sunny-san's coming in a few days. He's the one who got me the suit,” Komatsu confessed. “I'm glad! Because now we match, and otherwise I would have been in black and white—”

“Cream suits you. I'll have to compliment Sunny's taste,” Livebearer said, grinning.

“Uh,” Komatsu said, picturing their meeting in his mind, and not able to see it going well. But— “I would love it if you came to dinner with them some day.”

“That sounds fun!” Livebearer caroled, looking a little too gleeful, and Komatsu sighed, holding back giggles, and a bubble of real worry—not because he didn't trust them, any of them, Livebearer or any of the Kings! He did, with his life and with _more_ , but...

He wanted it to go _well_.

“You could help me cook! —ah, Coco-san would be horrified,” Komatsu said, letting out some of the laughter that was lighting up his insides, not just because of the thought, but because he was so _happy,_ walking down the freezing streets, Livebearer's warm hand wrapped around his own. It was incandescent, and it had to escape somehow. “But we're both chefs, right, Livebearer-san? You understand!”

“Cooking with you is always a pleasure,” Livebearer said, almost gallantly. “I would never say no to you, Komatsu-chan!”

“You can if you want to, though! —You do know that, Livebearer-san? I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to—”

“You really think you could?” Livebearer asked, almost purring.

Komatsu just looked concerned, and the tension was growing. Livebearer stopped, stock-still, in a shadowed puddle beneath a tree, Komatsu trying to turn to face him, but Livebearer still had his hand and his grip was, to Komatsu-chan at least, implacable. Komatsu didn't try to pull his hand away, so he stayed side-by-side, and Livebearer felt bile and terror in the back of his throat.

“I hope not,” Komatsu said, open and honest. “I trust you, Livebearer-san—to listen when I need you to listen. But if you don't ever say no, no matter how you feel—that's not fair to you, Livebearer-san!”

“Why do you worry about _me?_ ” Livebearer demanded, face going hard and threatening, the mask cracking—he could hear Komatsu-chan's breath speeding up, nervous, because he'd had his senses augmented along with the rest of himself, not as extreme as the Kings but no longer quite human, and because he'd learned how to recognize when he was making people nervous. It was a pleasure. Komatsu couldn't trust him as much as he said he did. He wasn't a _stupid_ man, his Komatsu-chan.

“Someone needs to,” Komatsu blurted out, and that—it was like a hard blow to the gut, winding him, the sort of sucker punch he hadn't felt in years. Komatsu-chan could be so _vicious_ in his kindness, because he always meant it, no matter how ridiculous it was.

“I haven't needed anyone to worry over me for years,” Livebearer said, dismissive, discarding it. “Do you think that _I_ ever need help?”

“Not anything I can really help with,” Komatsu admitted, easily. “I know you're more experienced and stronger and more powerful than me—but Livebearer-san, everyone should be able to eat a meal cooked for _them_ by someone who cares.”

“Komatsu-chan—I don't need you to—”

“But I _want_ to, Livebearer-san! If—if it's alright with you? I'm—I'm sorry if I'm being disrespectful, I don't mean to do that! Sorry—”

“I don't need it, Komatsu-chan, but I _like_ your time and attention. I'm greedy and selfish, I'll just take and take and _take_ —”

“Livebearer-san? If—if that's selfish, then I am too—Livebearer-san! I mean it, if I'm just worrying about you because I want to help you, _I_ want to help, then it's—”

Livebearer was laughing, the sort of laughter he tried to not use around Komatsu-chan, but it was just so funny, the idea of it. And Komatsu could look at him, and _know_ him, and he'd seen Livebearer at his worst, and he could still want to help, and he wasn't even flinching from laughter that would have cleared the streets if they weren't already empty, no doubt because of him. He was laughing _with_ him, a little red-cheeked with embarrassment—or cold, because it was a February winter and even with a jacket, he was so _small_.

“I like it,” Livebearer said, on something that was less than a whim. Or maybe more. It felt true, he didn't know where it had come from, he was going to make Komatsu feel _obligated_ —

And that would ruin it. He wanted to take what Komatsu gave him freely, for reasons he wasn't sure of, only that it opened up a yawning pit in his chest, threatening—

“Thank you, Livebearer-san!” Komatsu said, lighting up, and it was so much better than Komatsu thinking that Livebearer didn't want Komatsu's time and attention. He wanted it _too_ much, and Komatsu-chan couldn't see the manipulation he used as easily as breathing, the games he played.

“You're taking care of _me_ right now, and...it's nice.” Komatsu said, smiling shyly, and Livebearer had to look away. He loosened his grip on Komatsu's hand, in case he wanted to pull away, but Komatsu-chan just wiggled his hand more comfortably into Livebearer's hand, gripping two of his fingers loosely—his palms too small to thread his fingers through Livebearer's.

He was being _chosen_. It wasn't just Komatsu-chan tolerating him. He never quite believed it, but to have it demonstrated always satisfied something in him.

“I'm not taking good care of you, Komatsu-chan,” Livebearer said, a purposeful change of topic—directing Komatsu-chan's attention towards other matters, because he still felt raw and shivery. It was unpleasant, uncomfortable, and he would have killed anyone else, but he felt—he thought it was okay, around Komatsu-chan. “You look cold, and we still haven't had dinner, and that just won't _do_ , Komatsu-chan.”

“You take good care of me!” Komatsu protested automatically, starting forward—matching Livebearer's pace. Livebearer was slowly learning to keep to a speed that Komatsu-chan could match, strange but—nice. Good. “You're worrying about a little cold, you're taking me out for _dinner_ , you—Livebearer-san!”

“But you deserve _more_ ,” Livebearer said, meaning it. He'd take down nations and ravage countries for Komatsu, if he thought Komatsu would like it—he had to know that. Didn't he? But Komatsu was so _nice_. “Komatsu-chan! Ah, here we are—”

“—eh?! Livebearer-san!” Komatsu exclaimed loudly, eyes going wide at the sight of the name, tastefully small but instantly recognizable: one of the fancier restaurants in the city, _very_ highly ranked, very exclusive.

“It's the back door so we won't be recognized,” Livebearer said—like there wasn't a trail of gossip spreading behind them, where Chef Komatsu and _Livebearer_ had walked down the sidewalk hand-in-hand and in almost-matching suits. But Komatsu-chan didn't seem to be aware of that, at least not quite—he'd frowned each time someone had panicked, and Livebearer had almost felt bad. Not _really_ , because he'd worked hard to be terrifying, he'd gotten very good at it, and he'd made it work for him: you didn't run a non-IGO unregulated underground casino for long if you didn't have a good strategy. And Livebearer didn't play his cards close to his chest, but only because it helped bring down his opponent's attention while he was cheating.

“Won't it be busy in the dining room?” Komatsu-chan asked, eyes wide and worried. “I don't want to disturb things—I want a peaceful meal with you, Livebearer-san, and, um, I think you upset people and then they don't—I want you to enjoy dinner without people screaming or running! And—”

Komatsu-chan was worried about upsetting the dining room on one of the biggest nights of the year, Livebearer realized, fascinated—he'd predicted that, planned for it. _He_ didn't care if he ruined a night for both staff and guests, but he knew that Komatsu-chan would, and unlike the Kings, he did have some insight into how restaurants worked. What he hadn't thought about was Komatsu worrying about _him_.

“I rented the terrace,” Livebearer said with a smile, an unexpected glow of success warming him—the same feeling as figuring out the preparation of a special ingredient, or when someone was backing into a trap unaware, their tasty memories soon to be his for the picking—but maybe less of the latter. Terror made memories sweeter, but—it was—when Komatsu looked out for him, it meant _more_ , or something different. If a victory was bright, then Komatsu-chan looking out for him was incandescent. Ridiculousness and all.

“Livebearer-san!” Komatsu-chan said, voice thick with tears, and Livebearer hadn't counted on him throwing himself forward to hug him again. “Thank you! This is so amazing—and for _me_ , and—Livebearer-san!”

He should bask in it, but instead he shifted—but of course, reaching out to catch Komatsu-chan was automatic, his slight weight cradled against Livebearer's chest, his hair tickling Livebearer's thick neck, above his collar. Even though he was largely impervious to this degree of cold, he could feel Komatsu's heat soaking into him, and it left him feeling—unbalanced.

“It was nothing, Komatsu-chan,” Livebearer said, as charmingly as he could—an old tactic, to dismiss even extravagant gestures, showing off just how much power, money, how many connections, he had.

“It means a lot to me,” Komatsu said, shifting so he could look Livebearer in the eyes, smiling almost as wide as Livebearer at his worst, eyes still damp with tears. Komatsu reached up to place his hand against Livebearer's cheek—a point of contact, a point of connection that made Livebearer's heart jump. His palm was a little dry, his hands washed too many times over the course of the day, and his hand was tiny against Livebearer, but there was a tenderness and—

People were walking down the alley, so Livebearer unlocked the side door, Komatsu-chan still in his arms because he'd never willingly _give up_ his Komatsu-chan. Unless maybe Komatsu asked him to. But for now, with Komatsu not just compliant in his arms but leaning in close to him, holding himself flush against Livebearer's chest and maybe even _content_ , there wasn't a force in the world that would make him let go.

Livebearer took the stairs. It meant that much longer with Komatsu-chan in his arms, and he always had to get that much more, take whatever he could. It was a reminder, that he couldn't let himself relax around Komatsu-chan, because he wanted his Komatsu _safe _, and Livebearer was anything but. He'd almost killed him, after all.__

__And Komatsu still seemed to trust him._ _


	2. Dinner and a Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A romantic evening out.

Livebearer set Komatsu-chan down at the door at the top of the stairs, pulling it open and ushering Komatsu through—the snow had covered the rooftop garden the restaurant was famous for—famous for in addition to the food, which was exceptional. For Valentine's day, with _Komatsu_ as his valentine, Livebearer would accept nothing but excellence. The countless crystals of the snow caught the light shining up from the city below, reflecting it so everything shone even without much additional lighting. Snowflakes were catching in Komatsu-chan's hair as he stared open-mouthed at the scene, clearly enchanted—Livebearer couldn't look away from him. The chef who had captured his heart, and wasn't that a feat? If there was ever anything that required _special preparation_ —

To the right, tucked out of the wind, was a pavilion, warm and bright and food already on the table. He could stand here all night, but Komatsu-chan needed to eat. Livebearer lightly brushed his hand against his shoulder, tensing for Komatsu to be surprised—but he just turned to smile at Livebearer, still completely at ease. That was the strangest thing—one of the strangest things—about Komatsu. Livebearer didn't understand, but he thought that Komatsu-chan's fear would break him. He might do something _ill-advised._

The staff were discreet—most of them his own men, because he hadn't wanted to bother training new waiters, they broke so _easily_. It wasn't like the restaurant chefs—several of the best, their services booked for the two of them alone—and it would have the added benefit, Livebearer thought, of sparing Komatsu-chan the sight of the normal reaction to Livebearer. He didn't mind when grown men and women cried or prayed for mercy, faced with him—Livebearer, _Livebearer_ , non-IGO affiliated and a genius chef, mind-breaker and memory-eater.

But _Komatsu_ cared.

The pavilion was nicely warm, and filled with savory smells—the scent of roses underneath it, faint but there. The same pink roses he'd brought Komatsu-chan, the same pink as his shirt, and Livebearer was sure that his giddy smile was vicious and terrifying, even his hand-picked waiters hesitating, but Komatsu-chan couldn't see his smile, and even if he could, Komatsu-chan had yet to look at him and not smile _back_ —

Komatsu was pulling off his coat, and Livebearer bent down low to take it, moving automatically—he'd been called impulsive, and he was, he didn't believe in excess control to say the least, but he was also a master manipulator, and he wasn't sure if Komatsu-chan would appreciate the gesture—would it be too much? Komatsu-chan liked manners, not for their own sake but the little details that showed respect, thoughtfulness—not values the Kings were good at, so maybe it would make look Livebearer in comparison—

“Thank you, Livebearer-san!” Komatsu said, turning to smile at him as his coat came off. He looked—wonderful, and Livebearer knew that it was everything he was, because he'd thought him so _insignificant_ the first time he'd seen pictures of Toriko-chan's shadow, and he'd been just as unimpressive in person—until he hadn't been.

Komatsu-chan was looking at his shirt, not his face, and his smile was—still there, but he was blushing slightly, and—

“Thank you, Livebearer-san,” Komatsu said again, but his tone was—gentler, warmer, and absolutely sure. He reached out to take Livebearer's free hand, his fingers curling gently around his palm. The edge of it. Komatsu had a hold on him—he held a power over Livebearer that should probably have been terrifying, but wasn't. He'd thought about it for too long, but now that he was here, wearing Komatsu-chan's color, with Komatsu-chan's approval, it was a bone-deep comfort, and a thing to take _pride_ in. Livebearer didn't believe in pride, for the most part, but he did know how much Komatsu changed everything and everyone around him.

He wanted to deny it again, force Komatsu to see that _he_ was the one giving Livebearer a favor, he was the one who should be receiving, not giving, thanks—but Komatsu-chan was immovable in his stubbornness, sometimes, and the force of his will was breathtaking. Livebearer was never one to try to stick to an ineffective tactic, so—

“I like matching you,” Livebearer said, voice soft, hoping that it sounded more intimate than threatening. To Komatsu-chan, at least.

“Me too,” Komatsu said, reaching out to brush his fingers, just barely, against Livebearer's pink shirt, right next to the dark blood-red jacket.

“It's an honor, you know, Komatsu-chan.”

“I know! I'm—Livebearer-san, it means so much to me that—”

“For _me_ ,” Livebearer snapped, temper rising—and he was so _bad_ at calming his moods. Normally he just didn't care. It was useful to fly into a towering rage. He could do whatever he wanted, he was _Livebearer_ — “It's an honor to _me_ , Komatsu-chan, to show—that you—”

“E-eh?” Komatsu said, wide-eyed. “Livebearer-san...”

Livebearer looked away, taking Komatsu's hand between both of his own—swallowing it, enveloping it. Komatsu's smile returned, a little shaky but broad, at the gesture.

“Thank you, too, Komatsu-chan.”

“I'm still not sure what you're thanking me for!” Komatsu said, and Livebearer's head snapped up, eyes narrowed, irritation raging, ready to burst into full-on anger, but— “But, Livebearer-san, you're always welcome.” His tone was soft, kind, and he gently laid his free hand over Livebearer's, where Livebearer was still holding onto him.

There was nothing to say to that. Except... “You're welcome,” Livebearer allowed, and he straightened, letting Komatsu-chan's hands go, if only reluctantly—Komatsu still hadn't gotten any dinner. Livebearer looked at the waiters, glare sharpening—the hors d'oeuvre were still being served, not waiting ready for them. He'd done the right thing, choosing familiar waiters—they were clearly frightened, but subtly enough that Komatsu-chan didn't seem to notice. Not so terrified they couldn't work.

“The roses are so beautiful, Livebearer-san! And the food smells amazing—”

“I developed the menu myself,” Livebearer said, preening a little, proud. He had every right to be, with his level of skill—and with Komatsu-chan praising him.

“Oh, wonderful! Thank you Livebearer-san—I love your cooking so much, I never get to eat enough of it! But I wanted to eat dinner with _you_ —I have that problem with the Kings sometimes, from the other way around,” Komatsu said, moving towards the table. There were extra chairs: the two of them would either sit next to each other, or across from each other, and Livebearer didn't know which one Komatsu-chan would prefer. He sped up, taking a seat and—there, it was Komatsu-chan's choice. He gestured a waiter over, avoiding looking at Komatsu—

Komatsu slid into the seat next to him, close—so close. Of course, the seats had been placed for people of an average size, and Livebearer took up so _much_ room. Komatsu-chan could reach out and touch him, lean into him—Livebearer tried to figure out how to react, flipping through a few different options, should he give Komatsu-chan more space? _No_ , not unless he knew he was uncomfortable—but would he say anything? He wasn't used to thinking like this, this _altruistically_ , a disgusting concept. He lived by greed. ...Which it still was, at the core. He wanted Komatsu-chan happy because it made _him_ happy. Nothing more or less. It was just what he wanted. But Komatsu was so close—

“Is this okay? I'm sorry if it's intrusive,” Komatsu-chan said, sounding a little nervous for the first time. Livebearer froze. “I also wanted to be able to look at you while we ate, but—this is nice, too.” He was looking up and over, leaning to meet Livebearer's gaze, when Livebearer turned his head to look.

...Komatsu.

“It's perfectly fine, Komatsu-chan! Whatever you want,” Livebearer said, with a smile. “But if you want to look at me—”

He scooted his chair, even the sturdily-constructed wood groaning in protest, so it was just slightly at an angle. Komatsu-chan brightened and—moved his chair, too, hopping out to move it, before sitting down again, his chair a little too small. (He should have thought to plan for that. Then this wouldn't have worked, but... He wanted everything _perfect_ for his Komatsu-chan, and it was never a good idea to leave any variables forgotten and unaccounted for. Next time, he'd remember.)

When Komatsu-chan settled himself again, his knee was touching Livebearer's leg, just lightly. The pink of his pants against Livebearer's dark red echoed the contrast between Livebearer's jacket and shirt.

He would kill for that little bit of unasked-for contact, if it would get him what he wanted. And Komatsu didn't shy away from the smile. Again. He wondered if he'd ever start taking that for granted—and how much more dangerous it would make him to Komatsu-chan.

And then the first courses were laid on the table, portioned appropriately for the two of them: generous servings for Komatsu-chan, huge portions for Livebearer. “Oh, it's beautiful!” Komatsu-chan said, looking wide-eyed at a winter salad dotted with crystalline beets and radicchio and pomegranate caviar, red and romantic—delicate arrangements of cheese and small crisp fresh vegetables, red radishes and red carrots and sweet red peppers, everything almost-simple and fresh and of the highest quality.

“I hope you enjoy the meal, Komatsu-chan!”

“I know I will—oh, is this cheese made from rose-goat milk? It's got a delicate perfume that's not at all overwhelmed by the sharp tang, and a creamy texture—”

“Served with pea vines and a strawberry balsamic dressing,” Livebearer said, with a grin. Because Komatsu-chan knew the _artistry_ of the food—he appreciated it wholeheartedly. He could almost see the already delicious meal glowing under his Komatsu's attentions, the best of it shining—

“Try the bruschetta,” Livebearer said, a light suggestion—but it let him pick up a slice, delicately, holding it out for Komatsu, far enough away for him to take it—but Komatsu just leaned in, so Livebearer could bring it to his lips, watch him take a bite, as focused on the tastes as Livebearer was in watching him, and—

“Mmmm! Delicious, Livebearer-san!” Komatsu exclaimed, and Livebearer smiled. Everything was going to be perfect. Komatsu-chan's leg was still resting against his, and they were eating a meal he'd planned for the two of them—the food was exquisite, the air was heady with the perfume of flowers and fine ingredients, and Komatsu-chan was his valentine.

The dinner meandered on through multiple leisurely courses, balancing in-between extreme formality and more casual dining—he'd wanted to show off, and he'd wanted to tread Komatsu-chan _right_ , spoil him rotten, but at the same time, Komatsu-chan was humble, unbelievably so, and he'd wanted something that was—

Comfortable. It was a pity that he'd spent so long learning to be anything but. Unnerving, terrifying, those he could manage. But Komatsu-chan deserved something else. If Livebearer wanted him to be happy, at least.

After soup (nacreous bouillon, clear as water except for the exceptional iridescence, flavored like incomparably savory-sweet shellfish, accompanied by butterfly prawns) and salad (organs of palm lambs, dressed simply to let the tender, delicate flavor of the vegetable-like animal shine through) and fish (glowing salmon, cauliflower puree, tiny coins cut from the tenderest dwarf beets, red and white stark against each other and the pink plate—he hadn't been able to find the perfect color, so he'd ordered plates to match Komatsu-chan's color, using the scrap of fabric he'd managed to acquire) and everything else, they'd finally reached the nuts, fruit and cheese. Komatsu-chan looked full and happy, his smile unwaning, and even Livebearer's appetite was sated, for the moment.

“That was delicious, Livebearer-san!” Komatsu-chan said, leaning forward a little to lay his hand against Livebearer's hand, possibly for emphasis—Komatsu was always so generous with his touches, Livebearer thought, happy about it because it made it so much easier to fulfill the craving that Komatsu had created in him. He'd never wanted _touch_ before, not that he could remember.

“I'm glad you think so, Komatsu-chan!” Livebearer said, with a smile. “It's all for you, after all.”

“For _us_ ,” Komatsu-chan corrected, firm and gentle, and it almost made Livebearer shiver, for all the control he normally held over every function of his body—including the ones normally considered involuntary. “It wouldn't be the same without you, Livebearer-san!”

“How sappy, Komatsu-chan,” Livebearer said, trying to sound—casual, teasing, the tone he used when he was mocking someone, the tone Komatsu-chan always interpreted as friendly, which it was, for him, more or less—close enough. But this time, he couldn't quite manage it, because...

“Livebearer-san,” Komatsu said, gently chiding, teasing too—but it was a little sad, and Livebearer tensed, wanting to look away, not wanting to show that much weakness, not when he'd already shown so many soft defenseless spots, and chinks in his armor, and raw tender places nobody else knew existed—that hadn't existed before Komatsu-chan at all.

When Komatsu spoke, Livebearer looked at him immediately, because it was his serious tone, quiet and intense, meant for his ears only, even though Komatsu-chan's gaze was focused on the nut shells and cheese crumbles left on his plate, like they held secrets. His voice was threatening tears, but not the kind that Livebearer liked.

“I'm so thankful, Livebearer-san, I really am, this is—amazing, but it's _because_ of you and I, I don't know if you know that—or if I'm being rude and it's wrong, it's not the same for you, but—I want to be your valentine and I want you to be mine, and I like spending time with you, I like eating with you, with _you_ —a meal shared with someone special is special because of it, even if the food's not extraordinary, and your food _is_ , it's amazing, it was such a delicious dinner, I could taste your hand in it even though you didn't do the preparation, and that made it taste better—that I know you so well, Livebearer-san, that you'd put in so much care for _me_ , that you'd invite me here—and so I hope you know. That it _is_ because you're here.”

Livebearer sat up, stunned and still and—not sure how to react.

He didn't know what to say. His first impulses were all discarded—to cruel, too strange, revealing too much of how _foreign_ this was to him. Unacceptable. “Komatsu-chan,” he began, then stopped—reaching out for Komatsu's hand, taking it in his own, gently, because it was all he could think of that might not make things worse, and damn Komatsu for always finding a way to maneuver him out of his comfort zone, make him run himself ashore—

Only it wasn't like that.

“It's my honor to eat with you, Komatsu-chan—and I thought that I'd discarded all honor, you know—you met me, Komatsu-chan, didn't you? You remember the Casino, and I don't know _how_ —but it's an honor to eat with you because you make the food better. With your presence.” Livebearer looked down at his hand, cradling Komatsu-chan's tiny one, and gently stroked his thumb against the back of it—huge and dangerous-looking over the delicate skin and thin, fragile bones and vital tendons of Komatsu's hand. A chef's work was in their hands, and if Livebearer just _squeezed_ , he could shatter the bones and flesh into pulp and splinters, useless—and that thought hadn't crossed Komatsu's mind, but Komatsu still knew who he was.

“Livebearer-san,” Komatsu said, and he moved in for a hug, one-handed, leaving his other hand clasped, awkward with the sizing and—daring, Livebearer pulled him up until the small chef was kneeling on his thighs, arms wrapped partway around him, before he shifted even closer, arms going around Livebearer's neck, his face buried in his shoulder. It left Livebearer looking down at his dark hair—a little messy, he'd been cooking all day, that _was_ like Komatsu-chan, fancy suit or not—and beyond it the cream of Komatsu-chan's shirt collar, the pink of his suit, and the exactly-matching color of Livebearer's own shirt replicated in a different texture. And Livebearer's hand covering a not insignificant portion of his back. But Komatsu-chan was relaxed against him, and he drank it in like rain on parched earth.

Komatsu's hand bumped against the machinery implanted into the back of Livebearer's neck, and it broke the reverie, Livebearer going tense. He could feel Komatsu shift in response. Of course Komatsu was so aware of every shift in Livebearer, he was sensitive, he paid attention, he _cared_ , cared so much that even ingredients spoke to him—

“Sorry,” Komatsu-chan murmured, moving his hand down again, not pulling away.

Was it that simple?

It was overwhelming, suddenly, in a way that didn't feel safe or secure or okay at all. Livebearer shifted, Komatsu-chan responding, always so diligent, shifting to look at him. Komatsu's eyes were deep and still, his face bright and animated like Livebearer's was, but—not at all. Inimical to that, maybe, as much as Komatsu-chan could be inimical to anything. He was far too accommodating, understanding.

Komatsu had beautiful eyes, Livebearer thought, and it was an awful revelation. If he'd been capable of blushing still, he would have—just for _thinking_ such a thing—but his skin was too altered. A relief.

“Would you dance with me, Komatsu-chan?” Livebearer asked instead, offering his hand. There was music playing lightly—a strings quartet, subtle and subdued, in the corner. Nothing too much. But still extravagant.

Komatsu lit up.”Livebearer-san! You really thought of everything—I'd love to!” Then he frowned. “Um—I'm not much of a dancer, I'm afraid, I want you to enjoy it too, so—”

“Komatsu-chan,” Livebearer said, leaning in, a little too close, eyes half-closed, a thin smile on his face. “Holding your hand, dancing with you in my arms? How could I _ever_ not enjoy that?”

...Too much. But he was worked up, not because of—anything Komatsu-chan had done, but his responses were erratic.

Him, saying that. _Livebearer_.

But not in the way that he'd cultivated. Not the promise of danger moving into senseless, unpredictable violence. Not threats moving into blind, destructive rage. Just an awareness of Komatsu. A sense of romance. A growing need to—something, not quite good or pure, motivations selfish, but _complicated_ because it was Komatsu, simple and plain and slicing through complicated tangles with sharp directness.

“Livebearer-san!” Komatsu said, a little shy, a little disbelieving, still _delighted_ , hugging him close for a second before jumping down. “A waltz? I think even I could—Sunny taught me a few steps,” he added, with a laugh, remembering the event but not in a way that directly excluded Livebearer. He was jealous, of course, but not dangerously.

“Of course, Komatsu-chan! Let's waltz.”

Komatsu took his hand immediately, before they reached the dance floor. He even looked a little nervous, Livebearer realized, and it was, for a moment, a gaping chasm—Komatsu's face watching him with fear, he didn't need to imagine it, just remember, he'd been so _close_ to killing him slowly, pulling out his memories, taking them by force—but he was still so happy. So when Komatsu-chan put his arms up, Livebearer bent down, and they waltzed.

It was awkward.

Livebearer was bent almost in half, and he was paying excruciating care to the size of his steps, because he couldn't just—drag Komatsu-chan along in his wake, that wasn't right. He'd planned a romantic meal out in exacting detail, and Livebearer _always_ made sure that he got exactly what he wanted. And Komatsu-chan was a little clumsy, he had none of Livebearer's exacting lethality, but he was also a chef, steady enough—and if Komatsu-chan made a misstep, he was more likely to hurt himself than Livebearer by stepping on his foot. And Livebearer was going to make very sure that Komatsu-chan didn't get hurt.

“Where did you learn to dance?” Komatsu-chan asked, sounding impressed, smiling as he slowly started to relax into the flow of the dance—he was, Livebearer realized, taking steps a little bigger than was natural for him, which probably looked odd, but Komatsu-chan never seemed to care about that. He was doing it for _Livebearer_ , and it was a glow of warmth and a shiver of anger (he shouldn't have to) and a reminder to make his own steps even smaller. He probably looked ridiculous, too, but nobody in the room would say so—Komatsu-chan didn't ever seem to think that, and anyone else knew what would happen to them if they said anything, or even watched too closely.

...He didn't know how to answer Komatsu-chan's question.

“Here and there,” he said, with a bright grin, focusing on Komatsu-chan's face again—but his smile had faded some, and he was watching Livebearer with an intensity and understanding that was too much. Too much.

“You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, Livebearer-san,” Komatsu-chan said, but he sounded a little nervous. “You—do you know that?”

“Ahhh, Komatsu-chan, you see right through me!” Livebearer said, trying to cling to lightness, teasing, the implied joke—but his voice was a little too tight, smile false—nobody but Komatsu-chan would hear it or see it. Livebearer hadn't even known he _had_ a real smile, until Komatsu-chan had pulled it out of him. “That wasn't quite true—I pulled it out of someone's head when I stole his memories.”

There was, for a moment, nothing but the sound of their footsteps against the floor, his so much louder, drowning out Komatsu-chan's feet. But Komatsu didn't pull away, didn't falter, kept his steady rhythm, short-short-long, his hands firm around Livebearer's.

But his smile was a little shaky when he looked up. (But it was a smile, a real one, and Komatsu-chan was, probably, worse at pretending to smile than most people, and Livebearer had learned to read almost anyone.) “It's good you know how! I've just had a few lessons with Sunny-san—”

“How can you just _ignore_ it,” Livebearer ground out, angry. And confused, because that wasn't—not really—what Komatsu-chan did.

“I don't, Livebearer-san! I just—”

“Fake it to keep me happy?” Livebearer said, poison-sweet.

“ _No!_ I know—it's different now, though. I—lots of the people I care about have made mistakes. I've made mistakes. No—don't shake your head. Zebra-san has killed people, the first thing I saw of him—Coco-san, Sunny-san, Toriko-san, all of them, on accident or on purpose or somewhere in-between. Take-chan, too—but I think, I don't want to be too pushy or—you're _different_ now, Livebearer-san. That's why. You worry about me.”

“A leashed monster,” Livebearer said, with a smile so sharp it could cut.

“I couldn't be your leash, Livebearer-san!”

It was like being dropped into ice-cold water—before he'd gotten the improvements to prevent that sort of thing from having much of an effect. Paralyzing and instinctual and awful. He could drown in it.

“I couldn't, so—if you use me as one, it must be your choice?” Komatsu finished.

Livebearer took a deep breath, then another, eyes closed for a second, before he looked at Komatsu again, slowly. “I'm not sure that's right, Komatsu-chan,” he said, and his voice was all wrong, too unsteady, too dangerous, but Komatsu-chan didn't waver. “But it is different, with you,” Livebearer said, even though that, too, might be a lie—he didn't know how different he was. If even Komatsu could hold him back.

“Sorry,” Komatsu-chan said, abrupt, and Livebearer startled.

“Don't apologize,” he growled out, heavy and irrational and angry and _dangerous_.

“I shouldn't have brought up such a difficult subject and—it's such a wonderful evening you set up for us and I'm so _thankful_ , Livebearer-san, so I should have shown it instead of—”

“ _ **Quiet!**_ ” Livebearer bellowed. In the kitchen, a plate dropped with a loud crash, making Komatsu-chan wince, and the violinist jumped, his bow screeching against the strings before he recovered. Komatsu jumped, too, looking startled but maybe not afraid, which just—made Livebearer want to push him until he found out what _would_ make him actually fearful. No. _No_.

“No,” he said, out loud. “Komatsu-chan, are you trying to _apologize_ for bringing up something that I did?”

“...yes?” Komatsu-chan tried, a little sheepishly. The song drew to a close, and they stopped, standing on the dance floor, hand in hand.

Livebearer tried to think of something to say, but didn't. Instead, he just laughed, helplessly, and after a moment Komatsu-chan joined in, leaning against him, shaking with it. It was strange, hearing Komatsu joining in with his nightmare laugh, the way it always was—but right. And there was a certain amount of pride— _his_ Komatsu-chan could look past what it sounded like to what it meant. And ignore the danger. But really, he was Komatsu-chan's, leashed, and so...

“You could never ruin the evening,” Livebearer said, smoothly. “Komatsu-chan, you know that you're the perfect valentine! It would be perfect even if—”

“ _Livebearer_ -san!”

He meant it, it was disgustingly true, but he let himself join in with Komatsu-chan's renewed fit of laughter. The musicians were smart enough to not start the next song.

“Hah! I—Livebearer-san, thank you. Do you want to try another dance?”

“If you'll have me,” Livebearer said, bowing a little and then straightening, looming over Komatsu-chan once more.

“Of _course_ I—wait! I have a requirement,” Komatsu-chan said, practically bouncing, and Livebearer would have been worried—or no, not worried, he'd have suspicions but never _worry_ —but it was _Komatsu_ , and he'd give him anything he asked for, he'd give him anything he _hadn't_ asked for that he thought he'd like, and so the request couldn't be awful.

“What is it, Komatsu-chan?”

“...For the next dance—or, no! The rest of the evening, Livebearer-san, you have to hold me up because it can't be good for your back to be bent over like that, it looks really uncomfortable and—”

Livebearer was baffled. He had no idea what to do or say. Except—

“No, Komatsu-chan, dancing with you is worth a sore back—if I had to worry about that! You forget I'm not _quiiiite_ human—”

“But it can't be comfortable—” Komatsu-chan was as stubborn as a dog with a bone; Toriko-chan had clearly been, in some ways, a bad influence. (Except Livebearer was fairly certain that Komatsu-chan had had that particular quality long before he'd ever met Toriko.)

“Dancing with you is worth it, so if I just let you dangle in mid-air—”

“I've done it before! It's not perfect, but—”

“—not _respectful_ to you, Komatsu-chan—”

“...and that way we can still be as close as dancing but it won't be so hard for you—”

“—you should worry more about _yourself!_ Hmmmm... I have an idea, though! Okay, Komatsu-chan, I agree~! But only if you agree to a condition of my own.”

Komatsu-chan laughed again, clearly delighted. “Zebra-san did the same thing! Hopefully this will be easier—okay, Livebearer-san, I agree!”

“I'll carry you if you lead, Komatsu-chan!” Livebearer said, very satisfied with himself—and satisfied, once again, with the reaffirmation that Komatsu-chan, out of all people, would willingly make a deal with Livebearer without even knowing the terms. No hesitation. He was the only one who could, of course, and have it not be suicidally stupid.

“E-eh? But how...?”

Livebearer stooped and grabbed Komatsu-chan, gently but fast enough that Komatsu-chan's eyes probably couldn't follow the gesture, and straightened, Komatsu-chan yelping, bracing himself against Livebearer, then relaxing again with a laugh. He let his head fall against Livebearer's shoulder, so _trusting_ , and Livebearer had to stay still for a moment, memorizing the experience—Komatsu-chan so tiny, pressed against his broad chest, the rustle of fabric against fabric, the exact weight.

He'd closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Komatsu-chan was looking up at him, soft and adoring, his smile not nearly as wide as it often was, but practically glowing. He looked utterly relaxed, looking up through his eyelashes at Livebearer, and Livebearer shivered. Whatever Komatsu saw in Livebearer's expression, it made him sigh, a noise of perfect contentment.

...That he could manage that while held by one of the most dangerous criminals in the world, feet dangling in midair, said a lot about him.

Livebearer shifted his grip a little, leaving Komatsu-chan supported with one arm and taking his hand—and there was the music. Komatsu-chan looked confused.

Then, tentatively, he tightened his grip a little, and leaned in just a little bit, and Livebearer _listened_ , closing his eyes completely, in fact, trusting Komatsu-chan to lead them. It made it easier to pay attention to the minute movements of muscle and tendon directing him, his feet filling in the rest of the rhythm, moving to stolen memories.

He could feel the exact moment that Komatsu-chan realized what he was doing, showing all of that delicious sensitivity—it wasn't even sexual, not quite, just Komatsu-chan's _attention_ , the same attention that made him not just an excellent chef, but a superb one. He could feel Komatsu-chan adjusting, feeling the rhythm traveling up through Livebearer as he stepped in time, and then starting to direct them, laughing with exhilaration as they spun out into a turn, their synchronicity almost perfect. It was attention, focus, understanding, sensitivity, but it had to look like telepathy, Livebearer thought, smiling as well, wider than he normally allowed around Komatsu-chan—even if Komatsu-chan could maybe see the gesture. He didn't know; his eyes were closed.

Livebearer wondered if Komatsu-chan knew what a huge gesture that was, coming from someone like him. Or if it mattered. He liked to make sure everyone knew the balances of what was owed, the exact debt of a situation, but it was just a tool—he didn't care about fairness. Except that he didn't want Komatsu-chan to feel like there was a debt owed, because it would be too tempting to use—because Komatsu-chan would _want_ to make things fair and even, even worse. And his first priority was keeping Komatsu-chan happy, safe and content.

“It's almost like cooking with you, Livebearer-san,” Komatsu-chan said, soft and awed, and Livebearer couldn't help but press him a little bit closer, wordlessly. “—and see, isn't this more comfortable?”

“Only if it's more comfortable for you, Komatsu-chan!” Livebearer said, almost serene.

“It's nice!” Komatsu-chan said, starting to giggle again. Maybe it was a little ridiculous.


	3. Walking Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conclusion of the romantic evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally did not completely forget I hadn't uploaded the last part of this. Okay? Okay.

They'd ended up outside, watching the snow fall, Komatsu-chan in Livebearer's lap, tucked into his arms—for warmth, Livebearer reminded himself, refusing to let himself assume anymore. Komatsu-chan had already agreed to be his valentine, and he shouldn't push for anything more, not for now.

“The snow's so beautiful,” Komatsu-chan said, voiced awed and hushed, snuggling back a little further, wrapping the blanket a little more snugly around himself. “...You'll tell me if you get cold, though, Livebearer-san?”

“Still worrying about me,” Livebearer murmured, not quite sure what to make of it.

“Well, you're keeping me warm, but—”

The impulse to kiss him, to kiss Komatsu-chan, was nearly overwhelming. Livebearer was glad that Komatsu-chan wasn't facing him, that he'd have to move him to kiss him—that made it easier to ignore the impulse. After all, Komatsu-chan would be the one getting cold if Livebearer moved him.

“It takes a lot more than this to make _me_ cold,” Livebearer said.

“Okay!” Komatsu-chan said, relaxing again. “I'm still learning, I guess—so I know what's right for you, Livebearer-san! What I should worry about—”

“You shouldn't worry,” Livebearer said, but he was sure that even Komatsu-chan could hear how much he didn't mean it, not exactly. It was Komatsu-chan. That was how he was.

“—and what I don't need to worry about, and how to take care of you. So I'm sorry if I get anything wrong at first—and you can tell me!”

“Komatsu-chan, no one else would think to tell me that I need to speak up for myself—”

“ _Livebearer-san!_ This is different. You know that!”

Not even a question in Komatsu-chan's mind. Livebearer silently took his hand, wrapping it up in his own. Against the cold, he told himself.

“Are you in town long?” Komatsu-chan asked, after a silent moment, nothing but the soft shushing of the wind blowing through the snow. “Because I know you're very important and very busy, Livebearer-san and I'd like to cook dinner for you, and I'd love to cook with you, too, if you don't mind—”

“Don't _mind?_ ” Livebearer said, incredulous.

“...I guess that was kind of ridiculous,” Komatsu-chan allowed, and Livebearer laughed. “But I mean it! I'll—I'm inviting you over again, when you can come, if you don't have time, but I don't get to see you often enough and I'd like to cook for you—”

“You don't need to repay me,” Livebearer said, almost warningly.

“Not like that! Ah—how to explain—oh! Okay, so, Livebearer-san, did you like designing a dinner for me?”

There was a pause, and then Livebearer laughed slowly, relaxing a bit. “Komatsu-chan, you've outmaneuvered me again!”

“N-no, not like that—Livebearer-san!” Komatsu-chan wailed, wiggling a little in distress, and even though he wasn't actually laughing, Livebearer could hear the laughter in Komatsu-chan's voice, and it let him relax.

“So—”

“I'll be here for a few days, Komatsu-chan. There's no need to worry if you're too busy—”

“Oh wonderful! So I can cook for you and we can cook a meal together—oh, you haven't eaten at the Hotel Gourmet before!”

There was a pause. “If I ask if I'm taking up too much of your time, will you worry you're taking up too much of mine?” Komatsu-chan asked, a little sheepish, surprising a laugh out of Livebearer. “Because you shouldn't have to worry about that for me! If I can't, I'll say so, and—and I hope you'll do the same for me?”

Looking at him, it hit Livebearer that Komatsu really _was_ comfortable just—turning him down, because he had other plans. With a great deal of honest regret, but not fear, no calculations as to how vicious, unpredictable Livebearer would take it. That it was okay. He could trust Komatsu-chan to tell him the truth, so he wouldn't have to try and pry the truth out of him.

“Of course, Komatsu-chan. ...I don't have anything else planned, this visit was for _you_. So I can stay a few days extra. Whatever you have time for.”

“I have the next two days off! I'm so happy, Livebearer-san—I'm having such a wonderful time, and I was ready to miss you all over again.”

“I'm sorry, Komatsu-chan,” Livebearer managed. “For not visiting earlier—”

“Oh, no! I mean—we're both very busy, I'm just being selfish—”

“You could stand to be _more_ selfish,” Livebearer said, a low mutter, making Komatsu-chan laugh. He hadn't expected that, but it was—nice, anyway.

“So—so you could come over for dinner tomorrow?” Komatsu-chan asked, hopefully. “Oh! You could come over for dessert tonight, I made mousse and—and I'd love to share it with you, Livebearer-san! And I can give you your Valentine's day gift—oh. You probably have dessert already figured out, sorry, I jumped the gun...”

“I think your dessert sounds so much _better_ ,” Livebearer said, almost giddy. “Komatsu-chan, I'd love to try your mousse—”

“—what did you have planned?” Komatsu-chan asked, and Livebearer laughed.

“I'm not telling!” he said, sing-song, and Komatsu-chan started squirming again, and it was comfortable and—even, in a way that Livebearer wasn't sure he'd ever experienced before.

“That's not _fair_ , Livebearer-san!”

“Okay, _okay_ , Komatsu-chan—I'll play fair for _you_ \--or at least I'll hide it better. Hmmm—if we eat your dessert tonight, we can have my dessert after your meal tomorrow.”

“That does sound fair,” Komatsu-chan said, nodding—Livebearer could feel it against his chest. It was a reminder of how small Komatsu-chan was—easy to forget, because there was very little about him that was small, apart from his actual body. “I'm so happy I'll get to try your dessert!”

“And I'm never going to turn down your cooking,” Livebearer said, low and smooth—not threatening, considering the context. He brushed one of his fingers against the thin, soft skin on the inside of Komatsu's wrist.

“...If we put out a bowl to collect the snow, we could have it drizzled with poached pear syrup and flakes of cinnutmeg tomorrow morning,” Komatsu-chan said. “We used to do that when we were younger—with peaches, instead, but it was always so exciting when it snowed!”

“Poached pears would be an elegant breakfast,” Livebearer said, trying, _hard_ , not to assume. The only difficult things in his life now had to do with Komatsu. He wanted so badly for Komatsu's words to mean that he'd stay in Komatsu-chan's apartment—and he couldn't just take what he wanted, not now and here, and it was an _awful_ irritation. Livebearer normally considered irritation more than enough of a reason to kill someone outright.

“Probably not enough for you, though,” Komatsu-chan said cheerfully—just accounting for their differences, in the way that meant that he _knew_ Livebearer and didn't really mind—it left him contented, like the rumble of a big cat, warm and sated after a big meal, purring. “I'll have to come up with something to go with it—”

“Still trying to take care of me?” Livebearer asked, fishing, he knew it and Komatsu-chan probably didn't—

“Always,” Komatsu said, squeezing his hand, exactly what he'd wanted to hear. “...if you let me,” Komatsu-chan added, and that was okay, too. Livebearer would always _let_ him. Or rather, Livebearer wasn't willing to do what would be necessary to make Komatsu-chan stop caring.

“...The snow _is_ romantic,” Livebearer said, after a moment.

“It is! I'm—this is so wonderful, Livebearer-san. Thank you.”

“Call me more familiarly,” Livebearer said, tone harsh and demanding, not at all what he'd wanted. But it was hard to say.

“...Oh! Okay, um—Livebearer-kun?”

That was better. Livebearer was about to speak, making sure his voice would stay steady and friendly, because he had to, for once, give that impression.

“Livebearer-chan?” Komatsu tried again, more shyly, a little more nervous—twisting around, trying to look Livebearer in the face, to see how he'd reacted. Yes, it could be seen as infantilizing, offensive—there were very few people who'd ever think to try that with Livebearer. But it was Komatsu-chan. Komatsu- _chan_ , and there was that edge of dismissal, like he was mocking him, but it—was also so he could call him something cute, _friendly_ , and he didn't mind it. Livebearer thought. He wanted to mirror him and—

“I'm sorry if I'm being rude, Livebearer-sa—cha—kun? I just—ahhhh, you know it's not like that, right? I'm sorry for—”

“No,” Livebearer snapped, demanding, but he was smiling, absolutely—enchanted, that was the word, that Komatsu-chan would ask him. “I call you Komatsu-chan, and so you—”

“That's why I tried it,” Komatsu-chan started, a little miserable. “Because you—but I should have remembered that I'm—well, it's like that with me and I like it when—”

“No,” Livebearer repeated, alarmed, making Komatsu-chan look up. “I like it,” he made himself say. “I like matching you.” He reached out, not quite able to help himself—he was so bad at self control, he always had been, he'd never really cared—to brush his finger against the pink fabric of Komatsu-chan's jacket.

“Livebearer-chan,” Komatsu-chan said, eyes brightening more and more. He pushed in close, wrapping him in a half-hug and—Livebearer wrapped him back up in his arms, suddenly fiercely—happy, protective, fiercely _afraid_ , and there was nothing that would make him change a thing.

Except... “You're getting cold,” he said, with a frown that could—and had—made grown men weep. Komatsu-chan just sighed.

“Livebearer-chan!” he said, mock protest, before his expression went as sweet as sunny honey. “You're taking care of me, too,” he said, pressing his face against Livebearer almost shyly. His tone said that it meant something—that it was important.

“Komatsu-chan?”

“That's why I trust you, Livebearer-chan. Because of that—things like that!” Komatsu-chan moved away from Livebearer to gesture, and—

Livebearer stared at Komatsu-chan's forehead. He had the swiftly-fading imprint of a button on his cheek, where he'd pressed a little _too_ close, and it was—absurd, charming, distracting him. _Him_. If Komatsu-chan were anyone else, Livebearer would be in danger, possibly _nations_ would be endangered, when he realized what kind of power he held. But he wasn't, he was just—who he was. And he saw Livebearer, and decided he needed someone to take care of him.

“Eh?” Komatsu-chan said, catching on, dawning concern and—

“You have a button imprint,” Livebearer said, brushing it teasingly with a finger, making Komatsu-chan laugh.

Livebearer wanted to kiss it very badly. Because Komatsu-chan saw him as a source of comfort, something to cling to, hold onto, one of his greatest manipulations, no doubt, making Komatsu-chan think he was trustworthy, someone to seek comfort in, find joy with.

“We can go in if you want to,” Komatsu-chan concluded.

“I want to because _you_ look cold,” Livebearer said.

“But you said it was romantic...!”

Livebearer just gripped Komatsu-chan more firmly and stood, wrapping him up in the blanket and heading towards the door. “No fair!” Komatsu-chan said, muffled, and that made Livebearer almost cackle.

“Komatsu-chan! Since when do I play _fair?_ ” Livebearer had to ask—and that left the small chef laughing as well, relaxing fully in Livebearer's arms, swaddled in a blanket and. Livebearer could take him so _very_ easily. Spend all his time with Komatsu-chan. And it revolted him, infuriated him, and he was angry that he was upset by the idea and—

“What if I said I was hungry?” Livebearer said instead.

“Oh! Dessert! We should go then, if you want—”

“Chef Komatsu-chan,” Livebearer said, unwinding the blanket and setting him down—leaving his hand for a moment as Komatsu-chan found his balance again—in the warmth of the pavilion, the food now cleared away. Livebearer's bags had materialized over by the door—good. “Always thinking about feeding people—”

“You're a chef too,” Komatsu-chan said, with a smile—happy, satisfied, understanding. Not much teasing at all.

“But not down to the bone, like you, Komatsu-chan,” Livebearer murmured, tone low so only Komatsu-chan would hear. “You reminded me of what I'd forgotten, and it makes all the difference, Komatsu-chan. _Wanting_ to cook, wanting—”

Komatsu-chan took his hand and gripped it, firm despite the fact that he only had the tips of a few of Livebearer's fingers. “Livebearer-chan,” he said, sympathetic and understanding and also not quite agreeing—not an empty denial or a worthless placation. No excuses, but understanding and _forgiveness_. How had Livebearer ever overlooked him? “Let's go get dessert.”

One of the waiters, the one closest, was staring in horror at Komatsu-chan. All the better, Livebearer thought, putting a hand on Komatsu-chan's shoulder, friendly, and letting him lead the way. He smiled at the waiter in question, and he looked ready to pass out in fear—good. Komatsu-chan could smile back at him, but he meant those smiles _differently_ , and he had no interest in anyone else trying to take any _liberties_. Especially not if they decided that Komatsu-chan was a good target.

“Tell me about the mousse, Komatsu-chan,” Livebearer said brightly, a little obvious misdirection that Komatsu-chan probably wouldn't catch—and because he was curious. He shoved his bag over his shoulder, and held out his arm for Komatsu-chan, almost gallantly—well, if he was anyone else. Komatsu-chan snuggled in close, taking his hand instead of trying to hook his arm through Livebearer's—they were at different heights.

They headed for the door, Komatsu-chan trying to keep pace with Livebearer and gesturing animatedly with his free hand. “Oh! Well, I was making chocolates, and Toriko-san had brought me lots of different types of ingredients—popcocoarn, and dark chocolate from the Caves of the Forbidden, raw mother-of-cacao, all sorts of things! And at one point I had more melted chocolate than I had molds, and I didn't want to risk bloom on the chocolate if it cooled too much so I made some mousse. ...You were probably asking about ingredients though, Livebearer-san! Ahaha, I get carried away—”

“It's _cuuute_ ,” Livebearer promised him, with a teasing grin, making Komatsu-chan laugh.

“It's just a mousse, really! But I thought—well, there was chocolate cream cheese from chocogoats? So very mild, but with a natural sweetness and slight tanginess—and so I used that as the base of the mousse, with sparkling chocolate sauce from the Effervescent Springs—Coco-san brought that for me, I had some leftovers from the chocolate sodas I made us then, and that deepened the chocolate flavor, and lightened the texture a little bit more! So then, eggs and whipped cream—I used sweet goat cream—”

“A little snap to break through the luxuriant chocolate,” Livebearer said, intrigued, as they reached the bottom of the stairs, Komatsu's chatter filling up the stairwell, both of them absorbed in the other. Livebearer held the door for Komatsu-chan again, thinking briefly about simply picking him up and carrying him home, and warm and safe and in _his_ arms. It would be faster. ...Komatsu-chan might also take it the wrong way. Livebearer didn't want to—insult him, he guessed. _Upset_ him, more like. Caution, always plan, make sure you have a way to get the desired outcome—Livebearer made things _happen_ , and he was debating on _this_ silly, insignificant decision. ...He'd wait. Unless Komatsu-chan started shivering, better to walk to his house at his side. “I'm sure it's sublime—”

“I hope you enjoy it, then!” Komatsu-chan said, meaning it. _Meaning_ it. “It's nothing extraordinary—”

“Of course it is,” Livebearer said, firmly. He was very definite about that.

Komatsu-chan blushed, but didn't protest—not much. “Livebearer-chan! And I think next time I would want a coffee element—”

“Reduce the chocolate cream cheese, replace the sweet goat cream with jittering cow java milk,” Livebearer suggested.

“That would work!” Komatsu-chan said, ducking under Livebearer's arm as the big chef held the door open for the two of them. “The sharper flavors in the original would compete with the coffee—”

“But your original version would work much better with fruit,” Livebearer said, considering. “Raspberry, of course, but sunrise apricots would be good.”

“I usually use whatever's around,” Komatsu-chan said, with a laugh. “After so much time with Toriko-san! And cooking for myself.”

“I miss that,” Livebearer said, and then found himself saying, surprising _himself_ —which he hated in general. But he did. At least when he was arm-in-arm with Komatsu-chan. “Working with what you have—”

“Do you want to go out to hunt ingredients with me, Livebearer-chan? With Toriko-san too or just with me,” Komatsu-chan said, sounding a little—hesitant, or no, a little _worried_. Livebearer frowned, just a little.

“Of course, Komatsu-chan! But—I was thinking also of the ingredients available, of putting together a meal for yourself out of what you have in your cupboards—”

“Oh!” Komatsu-chan said, blinking up at him. There were snowflakes caught in his eyelashes, and spangling his hair. “...I guess that is different for you, isn't it, Livebearer-chan?”

“I never used to think like that. I always wanted _more_. And you understand, Komatsu-chan—you go out with Toriko-chan, after all. That drive for new tastes, new experiences, always _more_. You made me realize what I was missing.”

“Livebearer-chan,” Komatsu-chan said, slowly.

“No, it's—I'd forgotten what it was to _cook_ , for daily survival, for pleasure, for others—and there's no reason to ever wish for limitations, for not having anything I could wish for available at my demand—that was what I thought. But with you, Komatsu-chan, I'd like cooking with what we found, or what we had—”

“Some of my most treasured meals were cooked by my grandma,” Komatsu said suddenly. “Not very expensive or refined, but—I remember them. The treasured meals I ate with Ume-chan and Take-chan, when we were students, barely able to afford nice ingredients at all, supplemented with scraps from the kitchen—I understand, Livebearer-chan. There are lots of ways to cook and eat a meal.”

“I know you understand,” Livebearer said, feeling unfamiliar—uncomfortable—tenderness. “You inspired the same in me, Komatsu-chan.”

They were hand-in-hand, but Livebearer was so tuned into Komatsu-chan, Komatsu's movements, his physical presence, that when he stopped, Livebearer stopped too, almost before he realized what was happening. “Livebearer-chan,” Komatsu said, joyous and a little shy and—curious, something like that, expression shining. Fat, fluffy snowflakes falling around them, the sound of cars on a distant—and busier—street. “Would you bend down?”

Curious, not sure what Komatsu-chan had in mind, but willing to play along, Livebearer bent down, low and intimate, daringly close to Komatsu-chan—always pushing boundaries. But of course Komatsu-chan loved to hug, and—

“May I?” Komatsu-chan asked, hesitating, and Livebearer made a noise of agreement on instinct. It was _Komatsu-chan_. There was almost nothing that Livebearer would deny him if he asked. Komatsu would never think to ask for almost all of the things Livebearer would give instantly.

Gently, Komatsu leaned in and kissed him, lips pressing lightly against his, chaste and maybe shy but sure.

He pulled back—too soon—to look at Livebearer carefully, worried, a slight blush, worried—for _Livebearer?_

“Liveb—”

“Komatsu-chan, you—you kissed me?” Livebearer said, sounding stupid, he knew, but—

“Is that okay?” Komatsu-chan asked worried, and—he had. Komatsu-chan had kissed him, when he'd spent so long thinking and planning and trying to find a way to make it happen, trying to manipulate him and— _Komatsu-chan._

“Of course,” Livebearer said, torn between the urge to pick him up and rush him home, so they could kiss again, and a sudden bone-deep fear—what did Komatsu-chan want, what were the new rules, how would Livebearer react—

It would be too much to pick up Komatsu-chan now, after that, heading towards—Livebearer wasn't sure what.

“Are you sure?” Komatsu-chan asked, looking at his face searchingly. “Can I kiss you again, Livebearer-chan?”

Livebearer stopped trying to reason it out, gave into impulse, and leaned forward, one hand enveloping Komatsu-chan's thin shoulder, and kissed him. Waiting and ready for Komatsu to push him away, but still not quite able to ask if it was okay, out of irrational— _irrational_ , even for him!—fear, because Komatsu-chan had been the one to kiss him, but he couldn't convince himself that it would stay, stick, that he'd be welcome to more.

Komatsu-chan threw his arms around Livebearer's neck and kissed him _back_ , lips—not soft but chapped, rough compared to Livebearer's slightly plastic skin. His hair tickled Livebearer's cheek, his hands were warm against cold skin—even Livebearer was starting to get chilled, not that he was really feeling it—and Komatsu made the most delicious noise, a little puff of air against his lips, when he moved his lips just so, and it was so unexpectedly _captivating_ , startlingly so, even though he'd kissed before, nothing like this, so he pulled back, just a few inches, just to look and—whatever Komatsu-chan saw in his face, it made him smile and push in again to press another quick kiss to his lips, just a little bit off, on the corner of his mouth, and—he was smiling, and Komatsu was still smiling _back_.

On the other end of the street, a couple turned the corner, then promptly turned around and went back the way they came. Livebearer felt like he was being watched—he probably wasn't, the IGO knew that it would be more trouble than it was worth—but they were in public, and he felt the phantom itch, and he wanted to be—snug and secure, in Komatsu-chan's arms. A baffling impulse. But Livebearer never held himself back.

“Am I still invited to your place for dessert, Komatsu-chan?”

“E-eh?! Of course! Come on, Livebearer-chan.” It was—strange, to hear his name said like that, still. It irritated him, even, the _condescension_ , but it wasn't like that, it was—Komatsu-chan, and he was respectful. In his own way. It wasn't... like that. And it was better than hearing that careful, polite distance.

If the silence between them was strange and tense, Komatsu-chan didn't seem to notice. So Livebearer let himself ignore it, too.

-End-


End file.
